


Little Deaths

by Ireallyenjoyforgetting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Existentialism, F/M, Feminist Themes, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Infertility, Infidelity, International Women's Day, Isolation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir, Miscarriage, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), References to Depression, Self-Discovery, Simone de Beauvoir - Freeform, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireallyenjoyforgetting/pseuds/Ireallyenjoyforgetting
Summary: “On the day when it will be possible for woman to love not in her weakness but in her strength, not to escape herself but to find herself, not to abase herself but to assert herself--on that day love will become for her, as for man, a source of life and not of mortal danger.”― Simone de Beauvoir
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: International Witches Day





	Little Deaths

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [International_Witches_Day](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/International_Witches_Day) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Simone de Beauvoir was a French writer, intellectual, existentialist philosopher, political activist, feminist and social theorist. Though she did not consider herself a philosopher, she had a significant influence on both feminist existentialism and feminist theory. She wrote novels, essays, biographies, autobiography and monographs on philosophy, politics, and social issues. She was known for her 1949 treatise The Second Sex, a detailed analysis of women's oppression and a foundational tract of contemporary feminism.
> 
> *All mistakes are my own. I cannot thank my amazing alpha [toreaders-fromreaders](https://%5Btoreaders-fromreaders%20%5D.tumblr.com/) .This would not be half of what it is without their tremendous help and support.
> 
> I also want to thank my phenomenal betas Starryar and Ptwritesmore, both of whom can be found here on A03. Go read their stuff, seriously. Again, this piece would not be nearly what it is without their suggestions and insights.
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own, and I take full responsibility for them.  
> I don't own the works I'm using here, I'm only playing with the characters, themes and concepts. 
> 
> Thank you so much to the amazing team who's put on this fest. It has prompted me to grow as a writer and a person. 
> 
> Lastly - please heed the tags. There's heavy stuff in here, please don't read if you feel it will trigger you. It deals with a lot of mental health struggles, but that doesn't mean I want You to have any more struggles for having read it.

“It’s going to be fine Cissa,” Bella whispered into her sister’s ear as she swirled her hair meticulously up away from her face. She brushed a tear from her sister’s cheek and stared into the mirror with her. She lifted her wand and the hint of redness disappeared from Narcissa’s eyes. A cooling charm washed over her and she blinked up at her eldest sister. 

Her heart. She could not bear to leave her sister and step into the unknown of marriage. She knew Lucius from their courting, but one did not truly know their future spouse until they were, indeed, wed. He seemed very courteous. Accommodating. The perfect picture of a gentleman. 

But appearance and manners guaranteed nothing. In fact, they often did a very fine job of hiding anything less picturesque behind closed doors. She had heard tales from other ladies in her mother’s parlor. Harsh words, violent outbursts, whispered mentions of abuse. It was all unknown, but she reminded herself of her duty. It did not ease her nerves. 

It was  _ her _ duty. Now more than before. Her dearest Andromeda had left. She still didn’t understand entirely - how could she leave her baby sister to the very wolves she was so desperate to escape?

The night Andromeda left, Narcissa had walked into the kitchen, searching for a cup of tea to soothe her to a fitful sleep as her wedding day approached. She had found Andromeda standing at the china hutch, looking longingly at the silver baby spoons set aside for each of the sisters. Narcissa had found her caressing one with a hopeful expression she had not seen since they were girls together at Hogwarts. Before either were set out to be matched like a prize mare to whichever stallion would bring the most esteem to their bloodline.

She had confronted her sister and asked why she was fully dressed in the middle of the night. Her usually amiable older sister, with whom she shared every piece of herself, had been prepared to leave without so much as a goodbye. Andromeda had made her take an oath upon her wand that she would not reveal she had seen her. Then she was gone. Leaving the wreckage for others to sift through.

Narcissa blinked wide, holding back the tears that sprang unwillingly, yet so frequently today. She donned a smile for her eldest sister, beaming up at her with all the joy she could not feel.

“May I have a moment, Bella?” 

“Of course dearest,” Bella bent to place a kiss near her cheek, tucking one last strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right outside waiting.”

Narcissa nodded and watched in the mirror as her sister left her childhood room. She inhaled deeply and gazed at her reflection. She was beautiful; that was her gift. She was well prepared to be a wife, as well as a woman could be. Though she did not feel like a woman, she supposed she would be one soon enough. 

She picked up the train of her skirts and crossed to her childhood window. The view was foreign to her as she scanned the barren and perfectly manicured lawn. The arrangements were made months ago and the garden was moved to the Malfoy estates the past week as her dowry. It did not feel the same with the Black Poison Garden missing. 

Every inch of familiarity in her home had been stripped away. Months of preparation for one day of  _ joy _ . She may not have been a Malfoy quite yet, but she had ceased to be a Black the day her father signed the betrothal.

Narcissa glanced at the clock on her mantle and reaffixed the smile she would use to face her family. She sent a silent prayer to Hecate, determined that she could be happy. Months of devoted courtship, and she was to have the most beautiful wedding of the season. She  _ would  _ be happy.

***********************

When the Blacks arrived at the library Floo entrance, Lord Abraxas Malfoy stood regally awaiting them. Narcissa curtsied shyly to her father-in-law as he took her hand to lead her to the gardens. The guests surrounded the heart of the Rose Garden, the flowers blooming gloriously throughout. The circle of esteemed witches and wizards parted as Abraxas Malfoy placed Narcissa’s hand in her father’s before striding down the aisle to take his place at his son’s side. 

Cygnus Black stood tall, his hand lightly holding his youngest daughter’s hand. She felt a moment of panic and longed to hold onto her last remnant of childhood. Gazing forward, she saw Lucius’ cool grey eyes staring back at her. She determined that she would face her future with poise as she released her father’s hand and made her way to the man in front of her. He looked for all the world like a man in love. One could only hope.

************************

The opulent ceremony was traditional and staid. There was a hand-fasting ceremony, binding the newlyweds with the most beautiful, ethereally light silk Narcissa had ever seen. In a blur, the ribbon wound itself around their hands, encircling their wrists and melding with their skin in a binding ritual. An unbreakable connection formed to hold them together through the trials and triumphs life would present them with. Both participants felt their souls pulled taut, strung together in eternity.

Concluding the binding, Lucius Malfoy took his new bride’s hand and led her down the path into the imposing manor that would be their home. A giddy exhilaration buzzed through Narcissa as they ascended the stairs and into the ballroom. 

The guests trickled in behind the couple as they stood in a place of honor, greeting and thanking each of their guests for their appearance. Abraxas Malfoy held court across from them, mingling social niceties and political machination with unique deftness. As the last of the guests settled themselves in the ballroom, holding flutes of champagne from the private reserves of the French Malfoy estates, Abraxas lifted his glass as he wandlessly cast a  _ sonorous _ . 

“Dear guests, honored friends, I present Lord and Lady Malfoy,” Lord Abraxas announced as he nodded to the couple. The room raised their glasses en masse and erupted in a low rumble of conversation. The elves wound through the clusters of wizards and witches, offering hors d'oeuvres and endless champagne. The celebration of two prominent houses joining in matrimony would be the talk of England’s wizarding parlor gossip for months to come. 

Thankful there was no time to eat any of the delectable treats floating about the room, Narcissa sipped quickly at her glass, attempting to calm her nerves. If she had eaten more than toast that morning, she would surely be sick as the magnitude of the events settled into a deep knot in her stomach. It was a beautiful celebration, but all she could feel were doxies dancing in her belly. 

Violins filled the air with a lyrical melody and Lucius led his bride to the center of the golden ballroom. The bas-relief ornamented friezes were strewn with lush garlands of gorse, checkered lilies, and lotus blossoms. The late morning light streamed through the bay windows, casting reflections of yellow and pale pink over the stunning couple. Lucius’s platinum hair bound behind him in a royal blue silk tie the same fabric of his robes. The cornflower blue piping of his waistcoat and cravat complimented the periwinkle silk of Narcissa’s gown. 

The couple spun from one edge of the dance floor to the other. The strings of the violins pulled those connecting the lovers' hearts closer to one another. Lucius held Narcissa near as he pulled her through step after step, their eyes never leaving one another. The audience beheld the blush of youth in all its glory as soft, golden flecked periwinkle entwined with oceans of blue silk. Through the aria, they spun onward in exhilarating spirit as the next song began. Narcissa lost herself in the swirl of champagne, light and music. Guests joined the dance floor and lost themselves in the air of new beginnings. 

Song after song, the pair danced, mesmerizing any who dared watch for too long. The couple seemed as one, each step perfectly matched. They pirouetted from one end of the room to the other for what seemed an impossible time, only stopping briefly to sip something bubbly and greet their guests before rejoining the dancers. Time flew by Narcissa in a blur of sweeping tulle and twirling gems. Before she could think, it was time to depart. 

The pair quietly made their way up flights of stairs to their chambers. She glanced up at her new husband with eyes too heavy from the euphoria of dancing and too much champagne, at her new husband. He seemed content as he guided her through the halls. She hoped she would be content. She hoped  _ they _ would be content. The highest hope of the third daughter of a Most Noble House.

As they entered, Lucius took Narcissa’s hand and pulled her into his arms. He cupped her face, and gazed into her deep blue eyes. “We are one now. I will be your love, your protector, your champion. And you, my love, my light, my hope.” He brought his lips to hers and she gently opened to him like a flower catching the first rays of morning sun. 

Their clothes fell away in an unhurried procession of fasteners and ties, until Lucius clasped her hands, sliding them down her waist. He circled his arm around her hips as he moved behind her, his fingers running the length of her spine to pull the ties of her corset up through the lacing. His long fingers swiftly loosened the garment as he set his lips upon her neck. She curled back toward him, feeling the headiness that had surrounded her all evening coming to a peak. As his kisses peppered her shoulders, and the last bit of cloth concealing her frame fell to the floor, he spun her gently to lay her on their wedding bed. 

Lucius unclasped the last vestiges of his own modesty and, with utmost care, drew himself over his bride’s form. His hand drifted delicately over the soft skin of her stomach. Each inch he drew downward, Narcissa’s breath quickened in little hitches. Her soft whimpers brought a smirk to his lips and his fingers traced along her labia, finding her wet with anticipation. His deft fingers slipped inside her folds as his thumb pressed her closer to climax. As one hand occupied her core, he threaded his fingers through her hair with his other, loosening it from its confinement and grasping the back of her head with intense need. He kissed her deeply as his skilled fingers dipped in and out of her. 

As her breathing quickened, and he felt her on the precipice of climax, he held himself close to her entrance and pressed gently. She gasped lightly at the intrusion and he deepened their kiss as he moved intentionally forward. His fingers circled her and he moved his lips to her breast. Searching nips and flicks of his tongue distracted her as he seated himself fully inside. A shuddering gasp fell across her lips, and he teased at her nipple with his teeth. His hand, now entwined with hers, squeezed with each small rock of his hips into her. As he watched her lose herself to his touch again, he pulled his hips back further and pressed deliberately inward once again. The rocking motion slowly increased, matching the pace of her gasps. 

Her body was his violin, as he plucked each nerve meticulously. She pulled taut, her stomach bowing up, the strings of nerves wound tight through her. His fingers drifted from her breasts, down her arched belly to the most sensitive bundle of nerves near his own rapturous quest. Each time he rocked into her, she met his intensity with her own, urging him deeper, harder. The energy crackled around them as both lost all sense of time and place. The shattering intensity bound them together fully, sealing the bond they entered that morning. His chest heaved and a shudder ran through him as a small laugh escaped his lips. Narcissa’s eyes, heavy with sleep and satisfaction, looked up to him in tranquil contemplation. Though she did not know whether their marriage would be a happy one, she knew that in this singular moment there was nothing more she could want for in life than this. 

  
  


************************ 

The weeks following the wedding passed quickly before grinding to a halt. The honeymoon was brief. Three days they spent in the rapture of one another’s bodies in their wing of the manor. It was tradition amongst pureblood society to spend the first days trying to conceive an heir. The world, however, required Lucius to return to his work, and for Narcissa to settle into her new role as the Lady of Malfoy Manor.

There had not been a Lady Malfoy for nearly thirty years. While the staff managed well enough, she could see where a refreshing of the interiors was required, so she busied herself with ordering new upholstery and accents before sending dated items off to the Malfoy vaults. More often than not, as the weeks turned to months, she dined alone. Taking to her solarium to avoid the expansive oppression of a somber, empty formal dining room. The hours ticked away slowly once there was little work to do. Being a lady of a noble house provided little to occupy the mind when there was a war growing that took her lord to the front lines of a political maneuvering. 

Rarely, the elder Lord Malfoy made an appearance. Each time, months passing in between, his derision for her grew as she failed to carry his line within her womb. Constantly, she felt the emptiness, and longing for the companionship of a child. 

Narcissa loved children. She had grown with her sisters and stayed close to them until their bonds of friendship began to falter as they grew into young women. Running through the fields behind the manor, they laughed at the flashes of magic Bella called upon so easily, making the flowers grow and shrink, levitating ribbons of fish into the air above the lake until their mother scolded them to come inside. They danced together in the drawing room, pretending to be adults, Andromeda the Gentleman and Narcissa the Lady. Bellatrix bewitched the piano to play waltzes and made fairy-like lights mist the room in sparks.

For a time, they remained close when they started formal schooling, but as the years passed, Narcissa found herself increasingly alone in the manor as her sisters began exploring their own worlds beyond the clutch of familial comfort. Bellatrix involved herself heavily in political ventures that inescapably brought Narcissa into their orbit. And Andromeda? Andromeda was never happy enough. She never seemed willing to accept her place as the daughter of a great house. When the Muggleborn boy showed an interest in her, Narcissa realized it was merely a matter of time before she lost her completely. 

Narcissa had found her own friends at school, of course. She found her studies particularly comforting when the social necessities of Slytherin house exhausted her. She immersed herself in translating ancient runes and experimenting with potions. Among her housemates, she found a kindred spirit in a boy a few years younger than herself. Weekends spent elbow deep in cauldrons solidified their friendship. 

When she was formally introduced to Lucius Malfoy, who was already rising in the political circles of the Ministry at the time, she naturally made him aware of the clever boy. From that point on, Lucius and Severus seemed to grow closer than she ever had with the lanky young man. One more piece of her own life slowly stripped away.

No more did she invest her heart in others. She had only alliances and connections from that point. Friendships were fickle things.

Days spent wandering through the oppressive halls of Malfoy Manor, she sometimes wondered what she could have done to keep her first friend. Her confidant. Bella had always been too busy with visions of the future and grand musings on the past. Andromeda was the one person who had  _ listened _ . They spent hours discussing books and theories of magic. Their mother would remind them that their purpose, as the next generation of a great wizarding society, was to be well bred, confident in their abilities, and balanced in their talents. These were the things,, that would bring their house excellence; marrying the best they could and carrying the next generation was their life’s purpose.

Alliances. Connections. Acquaintances but never confidants.  _ These  _ were to be her goals.

**************

As prolific as Druella had been for a pureblood wife, her daughters found the difficulty so many of their ilk shared. Bella tried for a short time, suffering several miscarriages before Narcissa had even wed, and before devoting herself to The Cause. 

News of Andromeda was sparse and heard mainly through gossip among ladies at tea. Though Narcissa would not turn away any news of her if she ever received it, the owls remained silent. Dromeda seemed to have wholly forgotten her youngest sister and companion. It was safer, Narcissa contemplated frequently, as the distaste for blood-traitors grew in the ranks of fine society.

Her hope now was to make her own family. One that would not abandon her to greater causes and adventures. Narcissa tried as often as Lucius was home, which could be sporadic at times. She enjoyed the trying. Though, every time her menses came again, she wept silently in her bath. 

The joy of her marriage, the embrace of a man who seemed to genuinely care for her, though he was not required to, could not fight off the melancholy that settled over her as months dragged to years. 

There were moments. Brief months or two when she would hope that  _ now _ she would be a mother. Then violently, her body would reject the frail beginnings of life. After each brief respite from the bleakness of her solitude, she wound deeper into acceptance of her barren womb. It did not do to dwell on that which  _ could be _ . The present was all she had. And she would welcome her family of two each time they were reunited. As infrequent as those reunions became through the years.

She attempted to distract herself as ladies did. Hosting teas and luncheons, redecorating parlors time and again. Grand balls were given in deference to her husband’s growing rank among the legions of Purists. Each one she endured smiling and presented a picture of generosity as friend after friend grew their own progeny. She cooed over their bellies and saved her sorrow for the evenings she was left alone in a vast manor with naught to distract her but her own intellectual pursuits. 

She began correspondences with potions masters abroad and tinkered in her own small lab. She learned more of the healing arts through texts and accommodating experts of international institutions. Her letters became the groundwork upon which her mental fortitude was lain. 

As she became familiar with French and German healers, they sent her articles and recommended reading to further her study. She would never be allowed to practice at St. Mungos, as that was not proper for a lady of her station. However, she found a peaceful diversion in the theoretical knowledge, occasionally applying her research to tending wounds of the house elves or other injured creatures.

As her companionship with these distant colleagues grew, they wrote to one another of their lives. They spoke of the difficulties of acquiring certain potion components which led to the growing conflict that increasingly encroached upon their daily enterprises. They traded philosophical musings on the absurdity of life and the unexpected normalcy in the midst of budding hostilities. 

In particular, one of her French acquaintances, another member of a most esteemed house, had far different expectations as a society matron. The Marquise Delacroix had risen in her field as a Potions Mistress and embraced her independence fully after her dear husband had passed some years before. Narcissa once admitted she envied her freedom and in response, the Marquise simply sent a Muggle text titled “The Second Sex” by Simone de Beauvoir. 

Receiving the Muggle book caused Narcissa a small amount of alarm, and she hid it away immediately, refusing to look at it for weeks. There were many facets of pureblood society that had been integrated from the Muggle world, but most were centuries old. An interest in their current affairs was highly discouraged.

However, her curiosity won out. By the light of candles, hours past when Lucius had gone to bed each day, she read. In the world outside wizarding society, they had long fought the rigid societal expectations foisted upon so many women like herself. She realized that while Muggle women had been pushing for more autonomy, and greater opportunities, her own society’s expectations of women had stagnated centuries ago. There was a measure of autonomy given to women of a certain class. However, they were still expected to forgo any ambitions of their own until they had produced and raised an heir, or been proven barren. 

Narcissa collected Muggle literature and music slowly, working through sympathetic intermediaries on the continent. The more she learned of the Muggle world, the more betrayed by her own society she felt. While she had always known she had greater ambitions than to be a simple matriarch of a great house, she had accepted as a young woman that one must work  _ through _ her husband. Not as an individual, but as an arm of the male of the household. Her ability to navigate complex social minutiae and turn it to her advantage would always be seen as a boon to her husband’s goals. If anyone were to ask, she would have demurred, saying that she was merely searching for some solution to her infertility. The struggle of reproduction was a well-known wizarding issue and no one would have questioned her reasoning.

Never had she viewed herself as an autonomous individual, capable of weaving through professional aims of her own accord. Unless, like the Marquise, her husband died and she was left to her own devices. There was a certain appeal, and some irony at the thought. Her husband had all but left her a war widow even now.

Through her own exploration of an entirely separate world of history, one hidden in plain sight, her sympathies shifted away from those held by her family and much of society as a whole. She understood her fellow purebloods’ fear, that the encroaching Muggle ideals brought in by Muggleborns and blood traitors would corrupt their traditions and heritage. They thought it would dissolve the very fabric of their world. But she found herself no longer able to reconcile that fear as legitimate. It was not worth the devastation that was being waged in the name of some hypothetical future.

She began to understand the real reason Andromeda had left.

********************** 

Increasingly, Narcissa found herself unable to be still. In equal measures, she found it impossible to raise herself from bed each morning. It was difficult to maintain any amount of sustenance aside from tea and milk. She hosted parties, gatherings of  _ like-minded _ individuals, who could be beneficial allies. She drifted through the expectations of her life by rote. She could plan a party in her sleep, and sometimes did, losing the tenuous distinction between real life and her dreams. 

The surreality of frequent laughter and music in the halls of the manor was juxtaposed by the state of distress in which Lucius now returned to her. She nursed his wounds each night he came to her bleeding and torn. In his sleep he murmured cries she knew he would never speak aloud. Pleas for mercy and reprieve. He begged to spare the children, to take them and raise them as his own, making them pure in his own image. She wondered how deep his beliefs were. Could they be built upon gossamer wings of sentimentality, as her own had been? 

If she spoke to him of her own shifting views, would she be met with reproach? Or perhaps, she hoped, some shared wisdom that this trajectory was untenable?

  
  


************************

Monthly she was reminded of her failure in the only thing society truly valued her for. She retreated further from the public eye. For once she was grateful to have the burden of her fragile womb as a reason to beg-off any social engagements.

Her self-imposed isolation increased at the same rate of Abraxas’ hostility. He spent his time between the Ministry and Malfoy Holdings. Until his health failed him in an unusually virulent bout of Dragon Pox. When he was confined to his quarters in Malfoy Manor, Narcissa cared for him as she would have her own father. She absorbed his sharp-tongued distaste for the girl who would not give him a grandson behind a wall of occlusion. In his fevered moments, he wished her happiness and to save his poor boy from himself. In those moments he was glad his son had such a devoted partner to make his way through the coming tumult. 

In his lucid moments, his barbs imperceptibly eroded what confidence she had in anything approaching happiness.

Then he was gone. 

The ill-favored companion in her misery left and in his place was a quiet untouchable mourning for anyone, any _ thing _ that might touch her grief-stricken heart. 

*****************

The days passed much as they had before. Narcissa oversaw the household, tended the roses, and took long baths accompanied by too much elven wine. She walked winding paths through her roses and sank into the detachment that now permeated her existence. She watched butterflies dance through the garden, unshackled. The prison of her life wrapped itself around her. Pressing ever so slowly, forcing the air from her lungs until there was nothing but a shell of what once was.

Eating was trivial when she could not move, could not breathe. Some days she slept. There was little reason to remove herself from bed when there was so little reason to go on living at all. She rarely had Lucius for company as the length of his missions increased. Weeks would pass with no word, then suddenly he was there beside her in bed.

The emptiness in his eyes made her numb. She wanted to be everything he needed, despite all the trials he endured and everything he had done. He never spoke of the ones he killed, and she knew he held no love for violence, yet he seemed to believe some violence was necessary to achieve peace. He was doing this for  _ them _ . For the children they would have. Some day.

Some day. Some day.

Her whole world for some day. 

**************************

Days dragged to weeks since he had last shared her bed. 

She noticed the absence of things slowly at first. 

A teacup, usually left at the nightstand when she awoke in the middle of the night was no longer there. 

The razor on the vanity seemed to mold itself into the spot it was once left in.

The cigarette butts that sometimes littered the walkway just outside of the kitchen, no longer present.

She wondered some days if  _ she _ was disappearing.

Perhaps she had been alone so long that she had simply faded into nothingness, a ghost in her own life.

*******************

On a clear day, when winter nipped at the shadows and the wild grass began to edge closer to the house, a thought jolted her consciousness. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her husband.

He left frequently, though his schedule was sporadic. He often remained out for weeks at a time with only the passing echoes of daily life to signify his appearance in their home. His absence faded to background noise.

She had not seen the echoes of him for weeks. Possibly a month. 

Her husband had never left her this long. 

A worry sparked in the back of her mind and she scanned through her memories, searching for the last point at which she could be sure he had been home. It  _ had _ to have been at least a month. Possibly more. She cursed her mind, suddenly furious at her drifting thoughts. 

She ran through the house, up the stairs, around hallways. Her hand flashing in front of her, the doors banged wide with a wandless spell. She knew the answers but needed to see them for herself. She needed the confirmation to knock the accumulated dust from her torn and ravaged heart.

As she reached her room,  _ their _ room, she skidded to a halt suddenly. Her slippers trying and failing to grip the slick, polished wood. Gazing on the room with new eyes, she slashed her wand through Lucius’ closet, hoping for any sign that he had been there. 

There were none. The only garments gone were a suit, and his  _ robes _ .  _ Those robes. _ The ones that had robbed her of any chance at happiness she might have had when she married this man she barely knew. The robes that took him away from her more nights than he was allowed to stay. 

The scream that erupted from her was primal. Gut-wrenching sobs tore through her and ripped her throat to shreds. The depression that had become a weight for so long, broken by pure rage. 

Her tears flowed not in despair, but unadulterated fury. 

She allowed the rage to overwhelm her briefly, enveloping her every sense. She tore through the rooms, destroying the perfectly manicured museum of their life.

And when the frenzy ebbed, she took slow breaths and worked back in her mind. She parted the fog that had shrouded her waking mind for so long and tucked it inside a box of regrets to be dealt with later.

She had forgotten herself. Been forgotten.

But she would find what had happened to her husband. The only real family she still possessed. 

Her mother, her father, even her remaining sister may have seen her as little more than chatel – successfully traded for political and monetary influence. But she knew herself.  _ This _ was not her.

********************************

Narcissa emerged from the flames of the Floo connection, perfectly coiffed, neat as a pin. Her hair was pulled back from her face. She wore impeccable, practical boots and dark robes.

She looked through the dingy room and noted the disrepair of every inch of the tiny house she’d just arrived at. She relaxed her posture, leaving her wand at her side, expecting the crack that rippled the air in three, two, …

Severus Snape Apparated into the middle of the sitting room of Spinner’s End. His wand was drawn and his stance ready for a fight. He quickly scanned the room and narrowed in on the witch standing near his fireplace. His posture shifted to be less menacing, though he still loomed larger than his thin body had any right to as Narcissa drew herself up to match him.

“Where is my husband?” she asked pointedly.

Severus relaxed his posture and tucked his wand away. His face morphing to an unreadable expression.

“I am not sure.”

“What does that mean?” she stared at him intensely. “You’re. Not.  _ Sure.” _

“I have not heard from him in weeks. He was on a mission. Few came back.”

“Is he dead?” her voice never quivered as she remained locked on his eyes.

“It is possible.”

He shifted uncomfortably, guiltily.

“I do not know how much Lucius has made you aware of, but I did swear an oath to him. I will ensure you are protected.”

“I don’t  _ need _ you to protect me. I  _ need _ my husband,” she replied.

“Be that as it may, it would be best if we relocate to your home. That is the safest place for you right now, and I cannot be sure that there are not people on our side who wish you harm…” he trailed off.

“What exactly is going on, Severus?” she asked. Her skin prickled with suspicion, and she tentatively reached out with legilimency to feel at the edges of his thoughts.

“Do not presume to invade my mind, Narcissa.” He glared at her, “I may have sworn to aid you, but do not dare to take liberties with  _ my _ mind. I am not some fresh babe, barely out of his leading strings.”

She cast her eyes to the threadbare rug again. “I apologize, Severus.” She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, steeling herself for the task at hand. “I am desperate. I have no information. I did not even know if you would be here or if you would help.”

He moved forward to take Narcissa’s hand. “Allow me to assist you?”

Narcissa simply nodded and he pulled her to him. He flicked his hand to refortify the wards on his home and held her as they Apparated away to Malfoy Manor.

They landed in the foyer and he awkwardly dropped his arms from around her. She drew herself up and walked to the front parlor. 

“May I offer you tea? Something to eat? I haven’t even asked where you’ve come from or how much time you have.”

“I have a few moments,” Severus said, trailing behind her and watching her nervous movements as she summoned an elf to bring them tea. “I should have come before. I apologize. It has been a busy few weeks.”

“Of course. You all have much more important things to do than see to a simple housewife,” she said deferentially.

“Come now, Narcissa. We both know you are capable of much more than being ‘a simple housewife’,” he said, raising an eyebrow to her wryly.

“I may have been, once.” she demurred. She busied herself with serving their tea and gestured for him to sit in the chair near her own. She knew precisely how he took his tea, though it had been ages since he had occasion to visit his friend’s home. She poured the cream into her own cup and turned the handle of his toward him after adding a single spoon of honey.

As the steam rose from their cups, the floral bitterness grounded them both. Narcissa inhaled the fragrance of dark, acidic leaves tempered with hints of mint and lavender. The blend she had selected the week prior soothed her senses and provided the moment she needed to collect her thoughts.

She stared out to the garden, noting the frost forming at the tips of her roses. She should see to the warming charms at the edge of the house. They would need tending if the temperature dropped much more. It was unseasonably cool this year. 

Her thoughts drifted, tempting her to disassociate again. Her mind, a fickle thing these days. 

When Severus’s saucer clinked on the table, she came back to the man in front of her.

Looking mildly surprised to see him still sitting with her, waiting for...something. She shook her head mildly, clearing the fog.

“You say you haven’t heard from him in weeks?” she asked.

“Yes.” Severus glanced at the ornate carpet, the patterns swirling and melding the fibers seamlessly into intricate designs. His mind skittered, searching for what he could tell her while maintaining the delicate web of lies and half-truths that kept him from death.

“I regret to admit that my husband has kept me rather uninformed on current events. And I have not... possessed the fortitude to insist as of late. Anything you could tell me would be of assistance.”

“Indeed,” he drew in a breath and contemplated his words carefully.

“I presume your home is well warded as always?” he glanced surreptitiously at the portraits surrounding them.

“Of course,” she took his meaning, “though I find myself in need of a walk to clear my thoughts. It has been some time since you’ve seen the gardens, would you join me?”

She deftly smoothed her robes as she stood and nodded to the French doors leading out to the gardens.

“Of course,” Severus replied. He stood and crossed to the doors, waving them open to allow her to step out to the patio.

A few moments passed as they strolled along the path winding through the roses and out to the Poison Garden.

Severus walked with his hands clasped behind his back and kept a leisurely pace next to Narcissa as she ran her fingers along the blooms of ivory, crimson, and coral. The gate to the Poison Garden opened with a wave of Narcissa’s hand and a whispered word spoken to the blooms near the gate. The plants that seemed to have overgrown the section of gardens wound themselves backward, exposing the narrow entrance. 

The path was impeccably marked, and just wide enough for two people to walk astride. A soft hum emanated from the air surrounding the plants. A charm held the plants back from any damage they might inflict on a less than wary visitor. It was easily dispelled for tending, but Narcissa let it remain as they looked upon the familiar and exotic plants alike.

After a few moments of shared contemplation, Narcissa asked, “Have you ever listened to jazz music, Severus?”

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Severus schooled his features.

“Some. Why do you ask?”

“I was introduced to it through a friend some time ago. I quite enjoy it. Magical musicians seem to have stagnated somewhat. But Muggles keep changing. Innovating,” she replied, her fingers drifting over an oleander petal. She snapped any particles from her fingers with a twist of her wrist and a wordless spell.

“We’ve never spoken much of your heritage, Severus,” she said off-handedly, still looking down at the beautiful, deadly flowers surrounding them.

Her tall friend stiffened slightly beside her. She could feel the almost imperceptible shift in the air as she prodded at one element of his personal history she knew he was extremely sensitive about.

“What are you getting at Narcissa? I do have time, but not much,” he said cooly.

In an uncharacteristic leap of faith, Narcissa turned to look up at Severus.

“I find myself no longer in agreement with the ideals I was raised with. It has been a journey I’ve taken over several years, but I realize now that I may no longer have even a semblance of the strings that tied me to that ideology- that I have no use of it. If Lucius is dead, if they have taken him from me, it is not the Muggle people I will blame. It is my own.”

Severus quirked a brow, searching her face for any sign of deception.

“Those are dangerous words, Narcissa. I would warn you against them, but I know that you say nothing so frank lightly. And what would you have me do with this knowledge?” he looked down at her, his lips barely twitching with a repressed smirk.

“Severus, I believe I know your heart well enough. We have shared more than most over cauldrons of truth serums. Evenings hiding away from a party for a few moments with a bottle of elven wine between us. I know that I have been absent these last years. As have you.” She huffed a sardonic laugh. “As has my husband.” 

His eyes widened slightly at her candor.

“If there were ever a time to confess to me that you also do not entirely believe in The Cause, it is now, Severus.” She looked into the man’s eyes with the most fervent sincerity she had ever allowed herself to impress upon another person since Andromeda had left. She had laid all her cards between them and hoped her intuition had not  misled her.

“I am -” he paused, searching for the words to match her unusual candor, “not a zealot, Narcissa. I have made the best choices available to me, as I believe you have. There are a great many things I believe, that I dare not speak. As for The Cause, I imagine we are of a more similar mind than I may have previously believed.”

Severus turned away from her and walked past the riotous sprays of foxglove, poppies, and brugmansia, toward the exit. As the door opened, the ivy wound itself away from the curtain it had formed across the doorway. The artificial warmth of the greenhouse garden gave way to the chill of late Autumn and the two walked over the paths to the hedge maze. The skies loomed with heavy clouds and Narcissa could feel the mist pressing in on them. A storm was coming. 

Severus cast a warming charm around them as he spoke.

“Hypothetically, if the world could be anything, Narcissa, what would you have it be?” 

“I’d have peace,” she replied. 

“And freedom. Freedom is a concept I have only recently realized possible.”

Her eyes followed the hedges as they wound through the maze, choosing not to look at her companion. Eager to keep a shred of the distance she’d chipped away at so steadily in their conversation.

“I imagine, growing up as you did, that you experienced some measure of the constraints placed upon different populations of our society. Though, my dear Severus, you have the advantage of being a man.”

He huffed in acknowledgement and derision simultaneously. 

“Well, half a man, if my foes are to be believed.”

“Yes, but is this really how we even the scale?” she asked.

They walked in silence for a time, admiring the stark contrast of the impending storm with the surreal colors of the garden. The refracted light cast strange shadows throughout, twisting in upon themselves and dissolving into nothingness as they were approached.

“Severus,” she looked to her feet, pausing near the center of the maze as the storm clouds threatened and the mist began to pelt them harder. “I can’t do this alone any longer. I can’t.” 

Severus paused a few steps in front of her, and crooked his head back at her with a sidelong glance. He allowed his hand to hang purposefully at his side, his fingers fanned lightly, and waited for her to take his offering of friendship. Narcissa took a step toward him and grasped his hand in hers the same way she had so many years ago in Hogwarts. Before life had made a mockery of her heart. Before her friend had become enmeshed in the same fight she had just lost her husband to.

They traced their way to the center of the maze and sat at the stone bench together. They each sensed an unspoken agreement. The sky opened up above them, and Severus shielded them from freezing rain. For an interminable time, they stayed there, listening to the howling winds, sharing the silence of a deep understanding between them. 

After they had returned to the house and given their goodbyes, Severus returned to whichever of the many duties he held as a spy for The Cause. Narcissa climbed the stairs to her steaming bath, alone again. But not forgotten. Finally not forgotten.

********************

With a newly found purpose, Narcissa planned her calendar for the coming months. She would fully reintegrate herself into society. Too long, she had been absent, only appearing when absolutely necessary. She no longer held a pulse on all the gossip she would need for her future. 

Her morning whipped by as she consulted her calendar repeatedly and owled missives and responses she had neglected too long. By the time the late afternoon sun peeked through the dark clouds, she found herself ravenous. For the first time in recent memory, she called for an elf to bring her a late lunch. The lengthy time eating little more than toast and tea had left her stomach unable to tolerate more than a bowl of pumpkin soup and a few tea sandwiches, but she felt satisfied. The fact that she had an appetite at all made her aware of just how deeply her depression had settled into her bones through the years. 

As Narcissa walked to her study to consult her calendar once more, she heard the Floo roar in the drawing room. Behind her, she heard the heavy footfalls of boots nearing her, and cautiously gripped her wand under her burgundy damask robes. Severus cleared his throat to alert her to his presence and she turned to greet him, a small smile upon her face.

“You’ve practically become a staple here, Severus. Two visits in two days?” She quirked an eyebrow sardonically, “What ever shall I do?”

“I told you I promised Lucius. I will see that you are taken care of, Narcissa,” he responded.

She felt a warmth spread through her and ushered Severus into the Solarium where she summoned tea. They talked for an hour before he regretfully departed to Hogwarts to resume his duties for the evening. Only an hour of conversation and Narcissa felt lighter. She had hope for the future again. 

****************

The next weeks passed similarly. Narcissa corresponded with the ladies of society and made meticulous arrangements for advantageous social engagements. Her mornings were filled with fittings for new robes, owls, meetings with the acquaintances she had been too long away from, and a renewed sense that she could direct her own life. Afternoons were spent with Severus, rekindling the friendship she now realized she had sorely missed. 

His intellect had always intrigued her. While some might view the taciturn wizard as unsociable, he simply preferred to discuss matters that held some sort of challenge. Their conversation tended to devolve into debate on various potion ingredients and the benefits various harvesting methods held for different healing herbs. Her mind reawakened, and with it, so did her heart. 

The evenings she spent in the quiet stillness of the manor, allowing the sadness she kept at bay to burrow back into her soul. She ruminated over what had happened to Lucius. Her bed no longer held the magnetic pull it once did. Her sleep was fitful again, filled with images of her husband bleeding from gaping wounds on the floor of some derelict cabin. Flashes of green illuminated her mind over and over, each death more consuming than the last. 

Yet each day, as she woke with the dawn once more, she knew that Lucius must still be alive. She would have felt it if he had died. The bond they had forged years before, though frayed, still held. She felt him tethered to her, if only barely.

One sleepless night, as she tossed in her empty bed, she heard a crack of Apparation far below her and felt the wards ripple with the arrival of Severus. She snatched up her wand, summoned a night robe to cover her negligee and Apparated just beyond the base of the grand stairway. 

Like so many visions of her nightmares, in front of her was a heap of blood and scorched robes. Severus’s hair splayed over his face so that she could only see deep red pooling out from where she presumed his mouth to be. She froze in panic for a moment as her heart leapt to her throat. Then she darted over to him and cast a diagnostic spell. After assessing the state of his internal wounds, she heaved him onto his back to get a better look at his chest, where she noted the spell had found a gaping, infected wound.

Narcissa set to work extracting the infection from his body, and stitching the wound back together with a spell to prevent further infection. She summoned a house elf to gather potions from her stores. As he stabilized in her arms, she spelled various potions into his stomach, unsure of his ability to stay conscious long enough to drink them. It posed more risk than simply consuming them, but she felt confident in her abilities after years of nursing Lucius back from the brink of death.

The silence of the hallway stretched taut over her. As she held Severus in her arms, and waited for the potions to begin working, she studied his face and felt that deep ache of loneliness once more. She had only just gotten her friend back, and here she was about to lose him again. She waited, willing the minutes away, counting silently in her head the three minutes she knew it would take to allow the first of the potions to bring him back to consciousness.

She closed her eyes and counted the last thirty seconds in her head, steadying her breath as she did. As she counted down the final ten seconds, she felt a hand clasp her wrist and let out a shuddering breath of relief. She opened her eyes and gazed down at the dark haired man in her arms, and allowed a small smile to cross her lips. He met her eyes with his own and squeezed her hand in thanks.

She Apparated them to her own bed, landing in the same position on the large rococo bed there. She still knelt with her arms beneath him, though her knees were now cushioned by a silk feather-down comforter. She began to slide her arms from around him but he gripped at her wrist again. 

“Stay.” His eyes uncharacteristically pleading and vulnerable.

“You need rest, and then we can talk if you like,” she said with a comforting smile.

“I will rest. Just...stay, ‘Cissa.”

Her eyebrows rose at his familiar form of her name. She shifted in the bed and reclined on the headboard next to him. She drew her arm from beneath his body and settled her hand next to his chest. With her wand hand, she cast another diagnostic and watched as the swirls of light and runes indicated the infection leaving his body completely. His heart rate evened again as the potions took effect, and she relaxed slightly. 

As she lay there next to him, his long fingers snaked through her own and he brought them to his chest. They stayed like that in silence until she could hear the deep breaths signaling his sleep. She knew she should remove her hand and see to the other arrangements that needed to be made to fortify the manor in case he’d been followed, but she kept her fingers entwined with his. She reached out mentally, surveying the wards and picking through any possible fault, but felt their strength as she always did. The touches of Lucius’ magic made a twinge of guilt ebb at her conscience. 

But holding Severus, feeling the warmth beside her in the bed she had so long experienced fretful thoughts in, she rested. Her mind stilled and gifted her the first few moments of blessedly peaceful sleep she had had in months. The world melted away and she drifted through the gardens in her dreams, Severus beside her. An image of her wedding day, but with Severus in her arms in place of Lucius. Each time they reconnected after long absences, she felt his hands, his body pressing her down into the mattress instead of her husband’s.

When her dreams brought up images of Lucius’ body lying bloody and mangled on the floor, as they had every night recently, the form in front of her shifted to Severus again. As the brutal visions assaulted her, she heard screaming. After a moment of bleary confusion, she roused to see Severus kicking violently at the duvet as strangled cries.

She attempted to wake him, but he was bound in his own mind, helpless to his night-terror. With a flash of insight, she felt compelled to try a method to soothe his psyche that she had never felt confident enough to attempt on Lucius. She pressed her hands to his temples and spoke words she had practised long ago with Andromeda in their childhood beds. 

With barely a push of will, she breached his mental walls and sifted through his conscious mind to the waking dream he remained trapped in. She found him cowering beneath the tip of the Dark Lord’s wand, hearing screams of “Traitor!” The wisps of fear manifested into a moment she did not recall from their school days. Dangled by his foot, he hung in the air like a ragdoll, humiliated in front of the Black Lake. 

The dream morphed and carried her with it. A small boy huddled on the floor of the derelict building she had been in so recently, she felt the fear surge up as a dark shadow loomed over him. The sound of a cracking belt made her mind up and she broke the dream away from its trajectory. Narcissa cut through the tissue paper thoughts, so thick with years of torment only moments before and wrapped her consciousness around Severus’ in an embrace. She poured her love and compassion into him; because she existed in his mind, he could not deny her sincerity as he may have upon waking. It was not pity, but grace. A deep understanding of the pain she shared in disparate forms throughout her own life. 

When she finally retreated from his mind, her palms slid over his face to cup his jaw. She hoped he would not feel betrayal at the intrusion. Though she had attempted to invade his mind before out of fear, she did so this time for love. Love for the friend she could not bear to lose.

His eyes snapped open and his large hands wrapped tightly around her wrists. A moment of fear passed over her, before she found his lips pressing into her. Devouring her. Returning the fierce love she had enveloped his sleeping mind with, but with a possessive communion. He moved insistently, tasting every inch of her. Consuming her, he sent sparks flying through her body, lighting up all the disparate pieces she held buried in duty, regret, reclusiveness. 

He released her wrists and snaked a hand through her hair, gripping the strands covetously as he moved a knee between her thighs. Her head shifted down, letting his weight settle over her. A flicker of doubt rippled at the edges of her mind, but she allowed this connection to life she longed to keep swathe her in instinct. Her body, alight with desire, matched each flicker of his tongue over hers. They lost themselves in each other. Breathing life into one another’s tattered souls.

When she felt a hand drift over her breast, her night robe loosely pooled under her. Only her negligee covered the soft peaks of her nipples, she gasped. She arched her back into him and felt the length of him pressing at the silk slowly riding up her thigh. She reached between them and found him hard and leaking. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and she relished in the soft gasp that washed over her ears. He thrusted up into her hand and pinched a nipple between his fingers. He kissed down her neck, her collarbone, and spread her thighs to dip one hand into her wet core. 

In a moment of daring, she vanished both their clothes. With nothing left between them, he stared into her eyes as he thumbed at her clit. She slid the tip of his cock down her and tilted her hips up as he thrust into her in one movement. They both stilled as her tight heat surrounded him, and she felt the insistent, aching need in her slowly abate. With a few luxurious thrusts, he set an unrelenting pace. She matched each thrust with enthusiasm and for a small eternity, the world disappeared. Base human instinct shut out every apprehension they might have felt. He shuddered into her as pleasure overtook him a moment before roughly thrusting back into her. The feeling of raw power over her as he hitched one leg over his shoulder, sent her nearer to her own completion. When the electric tug of climax pulled at her, Narcissa felt a complement bond to the one she had formed on her wedding night all those years ago. 

He panted over her and she studied his features as she caught her own breath. She lifted her hand to his face once more and his eyes revealed his acceptance of the bond they had sealed. Severus held her, wrapping his body around hers, as they fell into a peaceful slumber. 

*****************

Severus had left quietly the next morning, his irreconcilable duties never allowing him respite for long. While Narcissa’s head swam with anxiety all day, she was surprised and pleased to find him joining her for afternoon tea, as had become their custom. Their conversation was as easy as ever. The only thing changed was the casual grazing of their fingers on the table between them. The light touches, intimate and quiet, soothed each of them. Neither was alone any longer.

On a cool, crisp morning, weeks later, as she reviewed her calendar, Narcissa noted the date. With so many changes recently, she had failed to realize that her monthly cycle had stopped. Her heart dropped, and with shaking hands, she withdrew her wand from her robes. She took a deep breath and muttered a spell, swirling her wand across her stomach. She stared at the images dancing in front of her, realizing she was pregnant. 

Though she would have welcomed the sight of those symbols only months prior, she felt a curdling guilt build within her. The images before her indicated that she was only a month or so along.

In a fog, she wandered to the Solarium, where she summoned tea to steady her nerves. Her fingers pressed to her mouth, thoughts racing as she reviewed recent timelines over and again. She could not be sure. There was no way of telling until she was further along and the spell’s accuracy increased. Hecate granting she made it that far. She never had before, so there was nothing to say she would this time.

While she continued with her schedule as though nothing had changed, her anxiety ate away at her. She would not tell Severus until she had made it past the third month at least. She checked and rechecked the spells as the time drew nearer when she could determine the father of the baby within her womb. 

As happy as she should have been, as thankful for her morning sickness and aching ligaments as she was, she could only feel the weight of her creeping anxiety. She had no one to share this with, her husband was presumed dead. She had no inkling whether her lover would welcome a baby into his life, if he didn’t, would the child look enough like her that she could continue in society without a scandal? Would she be able to pass the child off as her lost husband’s, even if they were born with a head full of black locks and a long, aquiline nose?

****************

The moment she would be able to determine the sex and paternity of the father was almost upon her when Severus came tearing through the manor one evening. His face was a storm and she knew fate had thrown her yet another turn. 

“He’s alive, Narcissa,” Severus said without preamble.

Her mouth went dry with hope and fear in equal measure. 

“Severus, I-” she began, and he held her steady, gripping her arms as he gazed down at her. 

“He’s debriefing the Dark Lord right now. He’ll be here soon.” As he spoke, his face was a mask of stoicism, though she knew from their time together there was a storm under the surface just as there was within her own heart.

Narcissa steeled herself and stood straighter, preparing for her husband’s return. Severus cupped the side of her face and brought his forehead to press into hers. They breathed each other for a long moment. He guided her lips to his and kissed her softly. 

A goodbye. 

She pressed back into him briefly, only pulling away as she heard a crack of apparition in the drawing room. 

The two separated and Narcissa walked swiftly to see her husband. As she reached the doors, they were flung open. In front of her, Lucius appeared as though from one of her nightmares. His hair hung lank over his shoulders, his face was gaunt and dark circles under his pale grey eyes highlighted the pronounced bruising on his cheekbones. 

She swallowed at the sight, tears welling in her eyes. In his eyes, she could barely see the spark that once lived there. Tentatively, she reached out for his hand and felt him flinch away from her, his eyes never leaving her face. She felt the jolt of rejection, but pushed past it to wrap her arms around him, embracing him with every ounce of devotion she still held for her husband. She occluded everything but her deepest feelings of compassion and longing for the man in front of her. 

After a long moment of trepidation, she felt him allow the walls to fall away and melt into her arms. As she held him, she felt the breeze of Severus’s robes sweep past them. He reached out to squeeze Lucius’s shoulder as he passed, making eye contact briefly with Narcissa as he turned and the Floo roared to life.

Alone with her husband, Narcissa was lost for a moment. 

Each time she had nursed him back from the brink of death flickered through her mind. But this was different. It  _ felt _ different. For so many obvious reasons, but also something unnameable. 

They retreated to their bed, where they held each other for hours, relishing one another’s presence. As Lucius lay there in the silence, staring into the distance, Narcissa studied the lines of his face. With delicate fingers, she traced lightly over each new line, re-learning every inch of him. She moved into his side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders; shielding herself in his warmth, shielding him with her acceptance of whatever trials he had been through. After hours in the still darkness of their bedroom, she slept in his arms. He laid awake, cradling her close to him.

*************************

The days stretched out slowly following Lucius’ return. The pair danced at a distance now. So unlike the way they had when their marriage was new. It was a strange feeling, being reunited. Only a little more than two months without one another and so much had changed for them both. 

Narcissa continued to schedule teas with the society gossips, to gather as much information as she could and formulate a plan. Lucius seemed to view this as some indication that she had never thought twice about his disappearance. As withdrawn as Narcissa had once become, Lucius seemed to have taken a page from her book, and it rankled at her. She was doing this for  _ them _ . Yes, it was for her as well, but  _ he _ had been the catalyst. When he disappeared, she had realized how much she  _ could _ have been doing. She had become so consumed with her own misery, she had forgotten the great well of strength that lingered in her soul. She was not weak, and she would not allow herself or  _ anyone else _ to assume her so ever again. Not even Lucius. 

It was as though she were living with Abraxas again. The sharp replies, barely veiled allusions “What had she been doing all this time, after all?” It was as though she were to blame for his disappearance. It was as though she could have done anything more than what she had. She had given this man  **_everything_ ** , and he doubted her. Nevermind the small fear that niggled at the back of her mind over who the father of the child currently growing within her was. Who could blame her for seeking solace when the one person she depended upon was presumed dead? She would not be cowed any longer.

**************

“Out with it, Lucius. I want to have the conversation you have been dancing around since your return,” she sprung on him one afternoon over tea.

He folded the issue of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ he had been skimming and set it on the table between them. His eyes had gone cold and she felt a tremor of apprehension as she waited for him to speak.

“Yes. We  _ should _ have that conversation, shouldn’t we, ‘ _ Cissa _ ,” he hissed. 

She felt off-balance by the venom in his tone. “You seem to act as though  _ I’ve _ done something wrong, Lucius. All I have done is wait, and hope for you to return to me.”

He snorted, “I wouldn’t call what you’d been doing  _ waiting _ . Barely presumed in the ground and you found yourself wrapped in the arms of my closest friend!” 

She couldn’t say that she was terribly surprised, though she still felt wounded at the poison in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Sneering viciously, he stood and leaned over her chair, his arms boxing her into it. 

“Ah, so we’re playing the coy maiden, are we? The  _ devoted _ housewife?” His head tilted sardonically to the side, waiting for her to offer up a defense.

When she could only stare at him, mouth agape, he continued, “Don’t think I haven’t a clue what happened in my own home, Narcissa. I may have been being tortured by werewolves for months, but I felt  _ each  _ and  _ every _ time the wards here allowed your  _ lover _ in. You know, it’s quite unusual for  _ friends _ to arrive so late each evening and not leave until  _ morning.” _

Lucius leaned into her, his nose almost touching her own. The feeling of his hot breath on her collarbone sent shivers of fear through her spine. “How long did you wait? An hour? A day? I had barely been gone a few weeks before that first overnight stay... though the memories are a bit...foggy,” he said lowly, as he reached out to grasp her chin between his thumb and forefinger possessively. “I was laying there bleeding out in a cell and here you were - fucking the first cock to pay you any attention in years!”

“You  _ will not _ speak to me that way, Lucius Malfoy. And I will not sit here and allow you to make me regret doing what I had to do!” she spat at him, yanking her head away from his grip. “I  _ felt you _ , Lucius. I knew you couldn’t be gone. Not completely. All evidence to the contrary, I never believed you had truly left me. Can you really blame me for finding some sort of comfort to keep going?!”

She pushed herself up out of the chair, splaying her hands on his still gaunt chest. She met his anger inch for inch and pressed him back until his back hit the wall. Squaring her shoulders, she looked intently at him. 

“Where were you?” she asked, lifting a finger to still the words that wanted to erupt from him. “I don’t mean the last two months. I mean for the  _ years _ I was here alone. The  _ years _ I waited for my husband to return. You have been gone  _ so much longer _ than two months dearest. Did you even notice when I slipped away from the world? Did anything register except your precious  _ Cause _ ?!”

He was now the one on his back foot as he struggled to find words to respond to the fire consuming her eyes.

“I...I was  _ here _ Narcissa. I was fighting for  _ us _ !”

“NO! You were fighting for some  _ ideal _ . Some twisted vision of what your  _ father _ wanted. I’ve heard your nightmares, Lucius. I know your heart,” she said, sadness seeping into her throat. “I know you have no more love of violence than I have. And yet, you allowed a cause you had no true conviction for to consume you. To consume  _ us!” _

“You’ve been gone as well, Narcissa,” he said menacingly, advancing on her again. “Do you know how many nights I came home to you lying in bed? Empty, lifeless. If you couldn’t have a child, nothing  _ mattered, _ did it?  _ You _ were gone. You were like the  _ living dead _ .”

He ran his hands through his hair, mussing the neat ribbon at the nape of his neck. “I thought for some time that you had been cursed. I searched every book I could think of in the library, trying to find a cause for the state you were in.”

“I was  _ suffering _ Lucius!” The words tumbled out of her. Her eyes welled with tears and she pleaded with him to  _ see _ her as he paced the room. “I have lost more pregnancies than I can count and you... you were just gone. I’m not impervious to life, to loss. I have dealt with every. Single. Loss on my own. Here, locked up in this tomb, while you ran away. Oh, you tried after the first baby,” she said ruefully, shaking her head. “But after...after that you just gave up. I stopped even telling you when I became pregnant because you didn’t  _ care _ .”

He rounded on her, shouting, “ I  _ cared! _ I knew each and every time and I couldn’t  _ do _ anything! All I could do was watch as you put yourself through that again and again. Most witches would have given up. Your sister did! I thought if I gave you space you would see that you were more important to me than an heir!”

She was stunned. She knew he loved her, but had never heard him put it so plainly. She reached across the deep rift they had allowed to settle between them both and laid her hand upon his chest. 

“I couldn’t keep watching,” he said, cupping her face in his hands tenderly. “Even if you had been able to keep any of them, how was I to know I wouldn’t just lose  _ you _ in the process? My own mother could not withstand the trials of childbirth. So many witches cannot. I couldn’t bear to lose you as well. And I couldn’t stand to watch you sacrifice yourself for the sake of  _ your _ ideals.”

A tear slipped down the side of her face as Narcissa, at last, understood a piece of her husband that he had kept so well obfuscated. She smiled sadly as she pulled away from their embrace. She studied the lines and edges that had formed there through the years. The sharp corners of his jawline stood out from the recent loss of weight on his already thin frame. 

“You should rest,” she said lovingly, and brushed the hollow of his cheek with her thumb as she turned to make her way inside. “You are still recovering. You need to eat soon,” she paused with her back to him. “We’ll talk more later dear.” 

********************

The moments they shared at meals were stilted and hesitant still. However there was an undercurrent of  _ hope _ . The wound was deep and had festered, untended for too long. But they had ripped it open, cleaned it out and set out together to try anew.

They continued to take their tea together in the mornings, often sitting in silence. Narcissa, sparingly dropped pieces of her work through the back channels of the wives and daughters in their sphere. Lucius listened attentively, realizing how capable his wife was. How capable she always had been. Remembering her through the years of their betrothal, recalling the reasons he had fallen in love with this woman before he had ever had the pleasure of taking her to his bed.

When she made to leave the Arborium one morning, Lucius rose with her and took her hand. 

“I know we have so far to go, and I cannot express how deeply sorry I am that it has taken this long to get to this point. But I am willing to do what we must to move forward,” he said as he looked down at their linked hands. “I believe your counsel may be far more necessary than I ever considered before.”

Recalling the last leap of faith she had taken and how well it had benefited her, Narcissa cupped his jaw and looked her husband purposefully in the eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and her thoughts permeated his own. Though she had always been hesitant to bare herself fully to him before, she relished in the feeling of the final stone in the walls between them crumbling away.

Every unspoken thought now mingled in their minds and each felt the renewal of their bond. Narcissa pushed a single hopeful thought toward him, allowing him to glimpse the beginning of the new life within her. She reached through to her core and found the tiny glow of a fresh soul. Lucius inhaled sharply and clutched at the wonder of it with his mind. He pulled her closer to him in the solarium, enraptured by the sheer magnitude of life surrounding him. He allowed himself to hope for the first time in so very long. 

And through him, she felt the intensity of his devotion. To her, their life, and the new soul growing within her. Lost in each other, she was startled by the moment she felt the baby kick for the first time. Greeting his father. It came in a flash of insight, that it could be nothing else. The bond she and Lucius shared extended its tendrils through and around them to link the three souls together.

Lucius pulled away just enough to ask, “How long?”

“Three months.  _ Just _ three months,” she said as a small, hopeful smile formed at her lips.

His forehead lowered to meet hers and he breathed her in, allowing himself to feel safe in her arms. 

There would be long conversations ahead of them. She would not forsake Severus as he had been so many times throughout his life. But feeling the emotion pour through the bond with her husband, she knew they could find a way to make peace, possibly even happiness with the situation. No longer would she allow Lucius to dictate their part in the war, now would she allow any of them to fade back into the darkness that had so completely consumed each of them. 

This was the beginning of a new life. A life of her own, but also a life together.


End file.
